I hear a
voice.
Sitting on
a bench,
Under the
lonely tree
Trying to
listen
the
deafening echoes
of my mind.
I feel the
whisper
caressing
my sunburnt forehead.
With my
roads going downhill
and my legs
failing to rise,
I wait for
the dark
clouds to clear
away.
I sip the
cold whiskey,
hoping to
drain my memoirs.
Thinking
about the cold sheets
and her
warm legs. The reminiscence
of her
betrayal cuts through
every cell
in mine.
I search
for her smile: a solace,
a beacon
for my lost mind,
Her soft
hair brushing my
lipstick
stained cheek.
I look up
the sky to
match my
emptiness.
I think of
a dream, where
her lips
were pressed to mine;
My fingers
traced her contours;
My face was
buried in her valleys.
I dream the
moment when
we were
naked under the Tuscan sun.
I lose my
ground
drowning in
an abyss of solitude.
I remember
her eyes, which
once
sparkled, but now shadowed.
An eclipse
of debauchery
obscuring
our lives.
I sensed my
arms holding
her satin
draped waist and
a cold machete.
And, she
murmured ‘how
about a last dance?’
With her
breath in my bosom
I sang our
epitaph!
